Going Under
by GayApparel
Summary: Mark bears witness to Roger's addiction first hand, and it begins the downward spiral of his detachment.
1. The Beginning of the End

**Disclaimer: **I do NOT own anything affiliated with RENT.

Notes: Have you ever seen a junkie high on heroin? I'll tell you something... it is a very interesting experience. Have you ever seen a junkie actually shoot up heroin? Now that's... a little scary. Mark bears witness to Roger's addiction first hand, and it begins the downward spiral of his detachment.

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Going Under** - Chapter 1

He asked me to go with him because he did not want to go alone. Benny had just moved out, marrying Alison Grey, of the Westport Greys--a rich family known all over the city as the "best place for real estate". In addition, Collins was in Boston on an interview with MIT.

His girlfriend went missing which didn't surprise me. She always had a knack for disappearing, especially when it seemed he needed her most.

We got on the subway together, heading… god knows where, but he said he knew where he was going… so I went along with it.

We got out in a shitty part of Manhattan; I was still getting used to the area, so I didn't really know where we were going. I followed him down the street; he was walking hunched forward as if he were hiding something, or trying not to let anyone see him, so I walked a few feet behind him. He looked paranoid, which scared me a little.

We finally arrived at the place he was supposed to meet some friend to make his 'pick up' as he called it. I went inside with him, and was a little surprised at how nice the place looked considering the reason we were there.

We went up some stairs, and headed toward another room inside this apartment, and into a bedroom with several other people, one actually holding a spoon over a lighter. I wrinkled my nose at the smell in the room. It smelled like tar, as if someone were paving the road. It was nasty.

A man pointed to a seat for me to sit in while Roger did what he had to do with his 'new friends'. I sat there and watched these unknown people do this horrible thing to their bodies. At first, I turned away, not interested in watching someone stick a needle in their arm, but I was so fascinated I couldn't look away.

It was… interesting, to say the least.

It was finally Roger's turn, and I watched him do the same thing the rest of these… junkies had already done. The man sitting beside a desk in the room handed Roger the needle he had just used. I shook my head; how could Roger use a dirty needle like that? Doesn't he know he could get some sort of disease from it? Or worse?

But he did it. He accepted the needle given to him, placed the nasty black drug on the spoon someone on the bed had handed him, and began the process, adding water from a nearby cup to the spoonful o' drugs to help liquefy the substance so he could put it inside the needle. It took him a few minutes before the drug melted enough, and carefully, with one hand and his mouth, pulled the disgusting liquid-like substance into the needle. That was skill.

Then he did it.

Roger made a fist, and bent his arm toward his shoulder, flexing his muscles. He carefully inserted the needle into a vain that popped up on his upper arm, though I could have sworn he just put it in the muscle itself. I watched, curiously, as his entire demeanor changed once the drug took effect--I was rather angry at him for making me come with him to this… filthy place, but seeing him like this… this was… wrong. He was barely conscious; his eyes became slits, if not closed completely sometimes. How was he even able to function like this? He couldn't even say a complete sentence without mumbling, nor could he even form real words. I panicked, but made no sudden movements in case this group of junkies freaked out, and I wouldn't even know how to handle that. So, I continued to sit in the chair quietly until it was time to go. I didn't know what to do with him like this, and I wasn't even sure how I was gonna get him home.

The man sitting at the desk, an older man, handed Roger a little baggie full of the black death, and Roger handed him some money. He slipped it in his pocket, but not before he missed several times. How he could even be slightly lucid was beyond me. Roger stood up finally, barely able to stay balanced, and walked out the door, leaving me in there alone with those people, as if he completely forgot I was there with him. I jumped out of that chair fast, and ran out the door following him. He nearly tripped trying to make his way down the steps. What was being in public going to be like? Thankfully, it was dark outside, so no one would see Roger, at least not too much.

Our trip home was similar to the previous one except Roger had his arm around me, mumbling incoherently about… something. A few times, he would mumble, and then completely pass out. Sufficed to say, the subway ride home wasn't nearly as pleasant as it could've been. I finally shoved Roger's arm off my shoulders, and scooted down a couple seats so I was still close enough to him, but not uncomfortably close to him. I didn't like this Roger.

The walk home wasn't any easier, though he seemed to regain some composure and could at least walk on his own. I had to guide him though, like a dog leading the blind. It was humiliating. All I wanted to do was get home and go to bed, and hope I wouldn't have terrible nightmares about the evening's events.

Finally, we arrived back at the loft, and Collins was hanging out in the living room. April was still out of sight. Collins noticed Roger's actions and shook his head. He gave me a sympathetic look, and I rolled my eyes, hurrying to my little corner of the loft I had turned into a sort of bedroom. I couldn't be in the same room with Roger anymore. He was freaking me out, and I just couldn't handle that. I sat down on my mattress, and grabbed the old video camera I had just bought from a thrift store. It still worked too. However, it didn't record sound; that I would have to edit in later with a tape recorder.

I sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled hard, trying to let go of the day. I turned my camera and tape recorder on, and started filming my corner room, narrating all that I filmed. Pathetic, I know. I turned the camera on me. "March 15th... The ides of March. It figures. The time… 9:15-ish." I wasn't certain since I didn't have a clock in my room. But I knew it was sometime after nine o'clock. I sighed hard before speaking. "Well, camera… would you like to hear about my interesting day? You would? Well…" I sat there for a good hour talking about the night's happenings to my camera as if it could help me somehow. It did… somewhat. I felt better being able to let that out, but I still didn't know what to do about Roger, or about this feeling that still lingered.

I decided to join Collins out in the living room now that I felt a little better, and filmed him while we all hung out. It would be a good way to avoid Roger in all his fucked up state. I went about the room, filming various items scattered about the loft. Then I put the camera on Collins, asking silly questions like, "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?" or, "What would you do for a Klondike bar?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Roger. He was lying on the floor with his legs up in the air. What the hell was he doing? His eyes were closed, and it looked as if he was trying to sway while lying down. Maybe he was trying to roll around. What got me, and I had to film this because it was just so… unusual; he started to scoot across the floor snake-like, but on his back. Then he raised his chest into the air, and his whole body bent backwards. He was gonna hurt himself, I was certain.

I turned away. It was too much, and I was reminded of why I was mad at him in the first place. Collins jumped up from his position on the floor. "Okay, buddy. Time for bed. Come on." He helped Roger up, and pretty much carried him to his corner of the loft. When he came back out, Roger followed him. Collins just shook his head. I think after tonight, he just might take that job at MIT. Roger was becoming a major handful, and even Collins was losing his patience with him. Moreover, I was the only other one who even cared enough about him to try to help, even if he didn't want it.

Roger started dancing to the non-existent music playing in the loft. I guess the music was in his head. It was kind of funny though, since Roger can't exactly dance. I had to get that on film. It was too good to pass up.

Apparently, his eyes were open, though no one could tell, and he waved his hand at me. "No, don't. I look bad on camera." It was the first time since earlier I understood his words. Besides, looking bad on camera was the least of his worries.

After a couple hours of filming, I got really tired. I turned off the camera and tape recorder, and sat down on the floor beside Collins. Roger had finally settled down, and was lying on the floor, almost normal again, but not quite. It was obvious he was still high, but he was at the point of his high where he was fun again, and not the scary man I saw earlier.

By the time everyone was ready to hit the hay, Roger had completely chilled out, and fell asleep on the floor in the last place he slithered to. Collins crashed on the couch, and I headed for my bedroom. I laid down, feeling incredibly exhausted, but couldn't quite get to sleep. Everything I saw tonight with Roger was still fresh on my mind. I got out of bed, grabbed my camera, though I wasn't sure why, and made my way out to the fire escape. It was a good place to think. I start messing around, just filming the city from where I stood; it was rather invigorating. Or maybe it was just the cool almost-spring air. Either way, I found myself really enjoying it.

I had bought the camera originally to start filming the million and one scripts I had written since high school, though none of them were really that good. But I needed somewhere to start, so I figured, why not. But I found I really enjoyed filming for fun. Maybe I'll do both, or, maybe someday I'll write the perfect script and become the next George Lucas, or Steven Spielberg. Yeah, right.

Sleep finally hit me, and hard, and I almost didn't make it back to my bed. When I awoke the next morning, I opened my eyes to a perky Roger staring down at me. "Holy fucking hell. What are you doing in here?" I bolted out of bed, and put a pair of sweat pants on. It was the only thing I had clean at the moment.

"Morning. Did you sleep well?" Roger asked, handing me a glass of orange juice.

I drank it rapidly, then handed him back the glass, practically running out of my room to avoid having to talk to him. I was still very angry with him, and I didn't want to say something I might regret… or that could get my ass kicked.

"Hey, where are you goin'? I wanted to talk to you…" But I was already out of the room.

He followed me, so I scurried off to the bathroom. I hid in there from him for a little while, and decided to use the time in there for a bath. I spent a good hour or so in the bath, trying to wash away last night's memories, and get that smell out of my nostrils. I emerged from the bathroom only to find I was all alone. I found a note from Collins on the fridge, "be back in a bit. Gonna find us a portable heater." I chuckled.

I went to my room, and sorted my laundry figuring I may as well. I loaded my clothes in a bag, grabbed my camera, and headed for the laundry mat. I hadn't even realized I grabbed my camera until I got there. I laughed. Why did I bring my camera? I was gonna do laundry, and there wasn't anything cool, or special to film at the laundry mat. I shrugged to myself, put in a load, and decided to film the other people doing the same thing I was doing. It was strangely soothing.

I returned home later that day, and Roger was chilling on the couch with his guitar and his girlfriend in his arms. The infamous girlfriend had finally returned.

"Hey, Mark. There you are. I wanted to talk to you." Damn. I was caught.

"Okay, but um… hold on." I went to put my laundry away, and grabbed the tripod that came with the camera, and set it up in the living room. I set the camera on the couple on the couch. "Okay, shoot." I chuckled to myself at my own pun.

"Dude, what's with the camera?" Roger didn't remember the previous night's activities, apparently.

"I dunno. But it's fun. Just pretend I'm making a movie about you, or something. And… action." I clapped my hands together mocking a clapboard.

"You're weird."

I rolled my eyes. "What did you wanna talk to me about?"

"Last night."

I knew it. I didn't wanna talk about last night. I would rather just sit here and film them. "What about last night?"

"Did I dance last night?" Roger actually remembered that?

"Um… actually yeah, you did. Why?" I moved the camera closer to them, and zoomed in on Roger.

"I knew it! You own me five bucks," he told April.

I let out an exasperated sigh. That was all? I wondered if he actually remembered it, or was just asking because of his bet with April. It didn't matter. I continued to film them being all cute on the couch. I wouldn't have believed last night happened if I hadn't witnessed it myself; but here these two were, oblivious as always. Whatever.

I pulled the camera off the tripod, and left the room. They were boring me. Well, not boring me, but making me feel lonely. I really needed a girlfriend.


	2. And The Band Plays On

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, sadly.

Notes: Here is chapter 2 of the latest story. Yes, it's still canon, and yes, my Mark is still straight. XD Roger is falling farther and farther away from real life, and Mark is falliing farther and farther from his friends. Both are going under in different ways, though they haven't figured out they need each other to get through it.

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Chapter 2 - And The Band Plays On 

Collins and I had been talking a lot lately about his move to Boston. He had already found a place to stay out there with some friends he knew from before even Roger knew him. He was becoming too much for Collins to handle, and he just wasn't listening to him; normally he would take Collins advice, but this time he had been acting as if he just didn't care what Collins had to say.

He was happy… He had his girlfriend, who was "the love of his life" as he always called her. He had a pretty good thing going with his rock music; he'd been playing everywhere from CBGB's to The Pyramid Club, and just about every hot spot in the Manhattan area, and was even planning on taking his music out of the area… a sort of tour. He'd also been talking to a record producer, who'd been hanging around when he and his band played. The record producer had been telling Roger and his band that he wanted to sign them as soon as they "got all their ducks in a row." Well, that was becoming increasingly difficult for him since he'd been using the drugs on a more consistent basis than ever before.

Even I was getting fed up with him by this point. I was still quite upset with him for having me go with him on a drug run, but I still hadn't said anything to him… not yet anyway. How could I? Whenever Roger was in a good mood, or not high, he was always too busy with his life; he and his girlfriend were inseparable, and the success of his band was "taking him places." So, I opted to just hanging around. I finally started filming some of my scripts, but in all honesty, they all kind of suck. Although, I sent in one of my scripts to see if it held any value in the movie world, but it got sent back. But they left a really nice message on one of them: "The narration crackles and pops with incendiary wit." Yeah, that meant, "thanks, but it's really not that good, and but we'll say something nice because it has potential."

I got bored with the filming, since I'd been doing it all day, and I just couldn't focus anymore. I rubbed my eyes hard. What time was it? I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and to check the time. 2:30. I hadn't realized it was so late. No wonder there were no lights on when I came out here.

I started back toward my room with glass in hand, but stopped about halfway there. I heard a faint sound coming in from the fire escape window. I moved closer and heard the sound of a guitar being strummed. Roger was still awake. That didn't surprise me.

That usually meant April was out cold in his room, and he could have his alone time. It was the only time he could write his music; at least, that was how it seemed.

Ever since he and April started dating, it seemed she took up all his time. He didn't have time for any of us. Benny didn't much like that, and would plan "guys night" so Roger could spend some time with his friends.

That was when all four of us guys would hang out, get drunk and/or stoned, talk shit, and be complete morons. It was a lot of fun. Watching and hanging out with these guys made me feel like I was one of them. They never made me feel like the outsider. It was cool.

After a few really good nights, and some not-so-good, and around the time I had my third bad hangover, I decided it might be safer to get high with Collins. I figured out that I didn't handle smoke very well, however. I tried it a few more times, but one, couldn't quite get the hang of it, and two, just couldn't handle the smoke. I would cough so bad, it hurt.

Finally, I figured I could drink some but not too much, or get too drunk. Besides, they used to pick on my when I was too drunk or too stoned, and I couldn't really do anything about it.

Roger really seemed to appreciate "guys night" and would take the time hanging with us to write his music. He wrote so many songs in a month once, because Benny set it up where "guys night" had to be every weekend during the summer months. But April wasn't too thrilled with that, so by the end of the first month it became biweekly… if we were lucky.

When "guys night" dwindled into Benny and Roger constantly sniping at each other because Roger and Alison shared a kiss that almost lead to something more; Benny was convinced. He had gone out to buy more alcohol--we were running low--and somewhere between Benny leaving, Collins and me passing out, and Benny coming home, Roger and Alison got a little too close.

Roger swore it was just a kiss, and that it meant nothing, but Benny wouldn't believe him. Even Alison told him it hadn't meant anything, but it didn't seem to help. Their yelling woke Collins and me up in time to see Benny slam the door, and Alison chase after him.

After that all happened, it seemed like Roger spent all his time with April, obviously avoiding seeing or running into Benny. I had never seen him so angry before. Not only was he avoiding Benny, but he started being a bitch to Collins and me. I usually took it; not because I was some wuss, but because I knew he wasn't mad at me. Why make things worse?

Roger and April had been together for almost nine months by the time she got him to try a new drug--but not long after to get him to try others. It was right around the time everything fell apart; imagine that. Before I knew it, there were people hanging out here I had never seen before.

He hated crowds, but seemed to work really well in them. Everybody wanted his attention in some way; he would give them some attention, then just get up and move to someone else. I had only seen this once before after I had moved into the loft… at a bar they snuck me into.

Some of the people would pass out on the floor in some weird positions. Some didn't sleep at all, talking all night about some of the strangest shit I had ever heard. Others were… moving about the room as if they were dancing while in a trance. That was one of the first times I had ever truly seen what a group of people on drugs were like.

But Roger had disappeared from the crowded room. April was one of the people having the strange conversation, ignoring everything else around her, and I had been hiding in my room, flipping through my accounting book from Brown. It was one of the last classes I took before I left. I was bored.

That was when I heard the music for the first time since shit hit the fan. I climbed out my window up to the roof to make sure he was all right. When I got there, I just froze. He was sitting on the almost-broken rusty chair playing something I hadn't heard before. It was a song he wrote for April.

"It's beautiful," I said, giving him a smile.

He chuckled. "Thank you." Then he held a smile, and shook his head. "You need to get yourself a girlfriend, man. Especially one that can inspire you, and make you wanna give up everything to be with her, but she doesn't expect you to. You know I mean, man?"

I laughed. "Not a clue."

He laughed harder. "Are you gonna start whining again about how you think you're ugly, and… oh wait… not ugly, just a nerd. And how no girl would ever wanna date you cuz… no… no wait… how no _hot_ girl would ever date you cuz you're too scrawny… uh, too dorky… do I have these right?"

"You're such an asshole," I said, indignantly, while trying not to laugh.

"I know." He laughed again. "You really need to get yourself a girlfriend, dude. Seriously. Hey, April's got some pretty hot friends… interested?"

I shook my head, though in reality, I wanted to nod vigorously. "Nah. I'm okay."

I glared at him the moment I realized what I said, and why he looked like he was about to burst into a hysterical fit. Then he exploded. "Fuck you, man. You are a such an asshole."

"Hey… I'm not the one who, uh…" He snickered. "Likes to uh… you know… hang out with uh… rosy palm and her…"

"Oh, fuck you! Why do always have to bring that up?" I was a tad pissed at him.

He was still laughing… asshole. "Cuz it's funny. So what if you got caught," he snickered. "You know… mastu…"

"Don't say it, Roger. Please."

"What? There's nothing wrong with it. Dude, everybody does it. Trust me." He giggled. "Some… more than others," he said, patting me on the back.

I rolled my eyes and sighed exasperatedly.

"Chill out. Hey, if I was using that info to embarrass you, I'd of done it in there. I'm just having fun with you, man." He patted me on the back again, smiling. "Besides… if you're ever gonna get a girlfriend so you don't _have_ to do that..."

I cut him off a bit eagerly. "I'd like to have a girlfriend," I said, smiling.

"Yeah? You get laid like, every night, and, well… you get what I mean, right?" He laughed.

"What are her friends like?" I said curiously, giving him more of my attention.

"Pretty cool, actually. A couple can be a little snobby, but not so bad."

I nodded. "Are they all really pretty too?" I asked, half nervous, half hopeful.

"Oh yeah. I'm talking H-O-T." He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"Would any of them go out with someone like me?" I crossed my fingers behind my back. I actually had a chance to have a real girlfriend.

There he was again, just like before, only this time he was in between highs. Some days he actually seemed normal, could function well, and had even asked me to help him get off the drug.

Those moments were becoming few and far between, but tonight was one of them. I hadn't seen him so lost in his music in a while. He seemed like the old Roger when he was in these states. I climbed back into the loft and ran into my room, grabbing my camera. I wanted to get this Roger on film before he had a chance to change again.

I filmed him for a good ten minutes before he stopped and realized I was out there. He heard me winding my camera.

"Oh… hey," he said quietly. He set the guitar down beside him, and gave me his undivided attention.

"Hey. So, you uh… writing any new songs?" I moved closer, turning off my camera, and took a seat against what looked like an old air conditioner.

"Nah. Nothing new. Can't think of anything…" He picked up the guitar again, but didn't seem to know what to play.

"Play me something."

He sat there for a moment, looking a little uncertain, then started playing a tune I swear I had heard somewhere before, but couldn't place it.

Roger played it softly and slowly, at first, as if unsure of the chords, but by the time he got through about two measures, he brought up the volume, though his confidence in his playing seemed to still be diminished.

He didn't shine like he used to; before, he was vibrant and full of confidence. He always carried himself as if he had all the answers in the world, but didn't act like it. At least, that was how he was since I've known him… until the drugs took over his life.

The music gradually faded away. Well, at times it felt that way; especially after Benny moved out.


End file.
